CHAPTERXXVII
Insome early chapters on the good work of the Sanitary Commission I wrote of the denuded hospital camp, belated sick soldiers, etc. After the departure of the Second Corps hospital officers, I was the only white woman in camp, and I took possession of their headquarters, in a rustic cottage of one story built by the engineer corps in pretty artistic style with boughs and branches cut from the woods near by.
Four rooms, with central entrance, made a comfortable homelike shelter where “Aunty” also stayed and looked after my interests. The colored guard detailed by General Russell marched their steady beat daily and nightly, while a stack of muskets stood before my little door. A circular lawn was often occupied by negroes anxious for a word with “De bressed white Yankee lady,” while their picanninies, rolling on the grass, made the place quite lively, despite the warnings of Auntie to “Dem black niggers dat ain’t got no manners no-how.”
This kind-hearted old mammy always, somehow, managed to have a bright bandanna turban and a fresh white apron. She took that rare possession of me, known only to house servants of southern families.
My quartersMY QUARTERS AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR
MY QUARTERS AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR
Mrs. Russell remained in her husband’s headquarters at the Point, and afforded me many pleasant social courtesies. General Russell invited me for a buggy ride to Petersburg, still under command of General Willcox.
As we rode by the deserted earthworks and former lines in front of Petersburg,—the field of the last battle being still strewn with empty canteens, broken muskets, etc., its earthworks upturned and great chasms torn as if by an earthquake,—General Russell pointed to a wrecked fort saying “That was the Burnside mine, the ‘Crater’ where I lost three hundred of the bravest soldiers that ever went into battle. They were the negro hero martyrs of the Burnside mine explosion, where many a brave Yankee white boy also gave up his life.”
General Russell’s brigade included a number of regiments, among them the Tenth Colored Regiment, with Major William Baker, of Maine, commanding. At the close of the war it was ordered to Texas to subdue the turbulent element and to protect helpless citizens. We met many destitute negroes still flocking to City Point.
As soon as the front lines were abandoned, hundreds of negroes ran from Petersburg to beg our chaplains to marry them. Some were very young; and a grey-haired old man said, “Me and Belinda has just stood by each other ever since we was a’most boy and gall; our chillun is sol’ away, and we wants to get married like white folks, so we can’t be separated no mo’.” This seemed the ultimatum of their understanding of freedom.
Conversions and immersions filled most of their time. These ragged homeless freedmen were gaining some glimmering of morality and religion; but it was a motley crowd that assembled on the shore of the James River, shouting and singing in their childish way, as they were immersed one by one, by their own preacher or leader,—then rising and shouting hallelujahs as they sprang up and down in the water in a frenzied manner, quite ludicrous to observe.
Contrabands were spying out the desolate land, and looking for jobs. Surgeon Thomas Pooley was put in charge of this denuded hospital, and joined my mess in the little cottage where Auntie made some palatable southern dishes with our remaining supplies.
The Christian Commission and State Agencies had “struck their tents” and vanished almost in a night. Happily the Sanitary Commission, with their larger work and supplies, had been detained until the arrival of the stranded regiment, (of which I wrote earlier) when with a detail from General Russell’s brigade, still in command of the deserted United States quarters at the Point, they were enabled to reconstruct a sheltered ward into a degree of comfort for the exhausted men. Lack of discipline and policing soon resulted in disorder and untidiness in these formerly perfectly systematized camps. Quantities of unportable home-made furniture, etc., and general debris were left, to the delight of the destitute contrabands. All government tents and property had been “turned in” and strictly registered.
I well remember my farewell glance at the demolished hospital, as I rode for the last time to City Point to take the transport for Washington. Tent roofs gone, only stockade sides remained intact; bunks stripped and bare, much was abandoned that would now be useless to the army. Negroes swarmed like bees around these treasures, and some improvised roofs and shelter from abundant material lying about, and seemed happy in this temporary home with little thought of the future, or knowledge of the Freedmen Bureau then under General Howard’s management, devising means to save them from starvation.
I took leave of my faithful, tearful old Auntie, evidently a leader among the irresponsible bewildered contrabands, who felt perfectly happy and safe as long as the Yankees were there to protect them.
At City Point, where little remained to show the old site of General Grant’s Headquarters of the United States Armies, as I went aboard a government transport bound for New York, I showed for the last time my pass, that had given me protection and much independence, and as I look back I am surprised as I think of my perfect freedom from restraint in choosing my patients and my work in the hospital and State Agencies.
As the shore receded, leaving a broken outline of the hospital and Point, a feeling of homesickness, followed by thoughts of trials, discomforts, pleasures, and hopes in our active life among the sick and dying,—as well as the thought of the many recovered and sent home to their friends by army women,—all these passed in kaleidoscopic changes, as, almost alone on board the transport, I turned my face toward Washington, and the months of hospital work waiting for me there. The very last object that attracted my attention, as I looked back, was on a hill just outside the hospital grounds. A great leather army shoe that, on the horizon, looked about the size of a small row boat or canoe, stood out in bold relief. This set me laughing as I remembered the night attempt of the owner to steal from our little house, and the fact that in his flight, months before, he had lost his shoe, not daring to return for it lest he be captured and punished. This monument of his failure remained.